


Leap of Faith

by Bryonia_Alba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Epilogue? What epilogue?, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryonia_Alba/pseuds/Bryonia_Alba
Summary: Neville departed England three years earlier, after giving in to temptation. When he’s summoned home for an emergency, he discovers how much things have changed since he left, along with one thing that hasn’t changed at all.





	Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wizard_love 2009.

“Here you are, sir.” The frazzled-looking man behind the counter handed a cracked ruler to Neville. “The Portkey is set to depart in ten minutes. Please step over to the staging area. Have a good trip, sir. Next!”

Neville accepted the object with a murmured word of thanks and followed instructions, making his way toward the staging area in the Portkey Authority office. This consisted of a line of drawn circles on the ground behind a low retaining wall. The person with the Portkey waited in queue for one of the circles to become available, stepped within the parameter, and waited until the Portkey triggered, taking them to their destination. Once they had departed, the next person in line took their place.

Choosing a queue at random, Neville got in line and fumbled in his pocket for the owl he had received that morning. The message had been short and to the point.

_Neville,_

_Come home right away. It’s urgent, life or death._

_I’m begging you._

_~~Love,~~ ~~Yours,~~ Sincerely,  
Ginny_

He hadn’t heard from Ginny since leaving England almost three years before, following the incident ultimately leading him to accept the Canadian job offer rather than one closer to home. Indeed, the only person he’d remained in touch with since leaving the country was Gran, and circumstances must be dire indeed if Ginny had been the one to write, much less beg him to return. 

The queue shortened, and Neville glanced at his pocket watch. He had seven minutes yet before the Portkey triggered, and only two people ahead of him. He still had plenty of time to fret. Was Gran ill? Were Mum and Dad all right? Would he get there in time, or was it already too late? What possibly could have happened that was so serious Ginny felt compelled to write him after so much time had passed?

His turn arrived with just under two minutes to spare. Neville hurried to an empty circle and stood within its circumference, taking a deep breath just before the hooking sensation grabbed him behind his navel and the world disappeared into a vortex of spinning light and colour.

Transatlantic Portkey journeys were not for those with weak stomachs. Neville was glad he hadn’t eaten beforehand as he landed among the cushioning charms inside London’s Portkey Authority office. He still felt a bit wobbly on his feet as he made sure his luggage had arrived with him safely before making his way to the Ministry Atrium and Flooing home to the house that had once belonged to his parents. Gran had gifted it to him on his eighteenth birthday, and he’d spent several happy years here until he’d moved to Canada. He supposed he could have sold it, but even then a part of him had known he’d come back again someday.

Moving from room to room, he flicked his wand back and forth, removing the holland cloths from the furniture and folding them before banishing them to the attic. He’d have to stop and pick up some food later, but right now all he really wanted was to find out where Gran and his parents were and whether or not they still lived.

Dropping his suitcases, Neville charmed them back to normal size and weight. Reaching for a pinch of Floo powder, he tossed it into the fireplace and knelt, taking a breath before sticking his head into the swirl of green flame. Peering out into someone’s sitting room, he looked around but didn’t see Ginny.

He did spot Harry though, stifling the crushing sense of guilt he felt whenever thinking of his old friend over the past three years. Seeing him didn’t lessen the feeling, and Neville almost withdrew; but Harry caught sight of him first.

“Neville, you’re back,” he said. “I’ve been waiting here ever since Ginny told me she’d owled you. Come on through, we’ve a lot to discuss; and I think you’re going to need to sit down for most of it.”

“Give me a moment.” Neville pulled his head from the fireplace and stood, tossing more powder into the fireplace before calling out Harry and Ginny’s address and Flooing over properly. Harry caught him by the elbow as he stumbled onto the hearth, helping him brush the soot from his clothing before guiding him to one of the armchairs in the sitting room.

“Did you just get back?” Harry asked, just as an incredibly ancient-looking house elf shuffled into view. “Bring us a tea tray please, Kreacher, and some sandwiches. Have you eaten?”

Neville shook his head. “Not since I got the owl and started making travel arrangements. Is Gran all right? Is she at St. Mungo’s? Is it Mum or Dad? Ginny didn’t give me any details, just that I had to come home right away, that it was urgent.”

_She begged…_ Neville pushed back the memory and took a deep breath.

“Your Gran is fine. She’ll outlive us all from sheer contrariness. So are your parents. No, this is something a little closer to home. You’re still not sitting down, Nev.”

Neville sat, more confused than ever, gaze moving around the sparsely furnished room. All the little touches that made a house a home were missing. The room looked, in fact, much as it had before Harry and Ginny had married. “Where are Ginny and the boys?”

“James and Albus are at the Burrow,” Harry replied as Kreacher shuffled back into the room, tea tray in hand. Waiting until the tea had been poured and sandwiches served, Harry thanked Kreacher and watched him go before explaining further. “Ginny is…well, first things first. You know Ginny and I are divorced now?”

“No!” Neville gasped, eyes widening in shock. “The owl was the first I’d heard from her since moving to Canada. The first I’d heard from anyone, to be honest. I’m afraid I’m behind on all the gossip. I don’t know anything. I’m sorry. About the divorce, that is,” he added belatedly.

“Don’t be.” Harry waved a hand and picked up a sandwich. “It was a long time coming. We’d been having problems since before Albus came along, and once I finally came out – forced out, if you want to be honest – and confessed all there really was no further point in salvaging the marriage. It’s better for the kids to have parents who don’t hate each other, and for me and Gin that means not living under the same roof. She’s got her own house now, and I’m living here with…” Harry paused uneasily.

“Yes?” Neville prompted, unsure how this was related to him needing to come back to England.

“I live here with Sev. Severus. My partner. It’s a long story.”

“I can imagine.” Neville hid his deepening shock behind a scalding swallow of tea. News of the divorce had been surprising enough; but…Harry? Gay? Living with _Snape_? Things truly had changed while Neville had been away. “I still don’t understand what this has to do with me, or why Ginny wanted me to come back in all haste.”

“Sorry. I’ll get to the point.” Harry fell silent, and Neville had the impression he was struggling to find the right words. “We found out Ginny was pregnant again, soon after you left England. She had a girl, named Lily Luna. We finalised the divorce three months later.”

“Congratulations. On your daughter, not on the divorce, obviously. You must spoil her shamelessly.”

He frowned when Harry laughed at the comment, the sound cracked and jagged. “Oh, I love her with all my heart, don’t think I don’t. However, I learned two days ago she’s not mine.” The laugh turned into something closely resembling a sob. “She’s my daughter in all but blood, Neville. Lily isn’t mine, but she’s almost certainly yours.”

Neville stared. 

“That’s why Ginny owled. She’s at St. Mungo’s with Lily, hoping you return in time. She’s sick, Nev.” Harry’s voice broke. “Lily is sick, possibly dying, and you’re probably the last hope we’ve got to save her.”

Neville couldn’t stop staring, but Harry seemed wholly sincere. Good Godric, Harry had every right to hex him to jelly, and instead they were sitting and drinking tea. And he was a father. He had a daughter who might be dying. Harry seemed very sure of that.

“You seem rather calm about it. That Ginny and I…” Neville shook his head, trying to gather his scattered thoughts into some semblance of order. _He was a father._ “It was only the once, Harry; I swear. I told her it wouldn’t happen again.”

“I know it only happened once. You took that job and moved to Canada a week later with hardly a word to anyone. I had to ask your Gran where we could find you so Ginny could owl. We didn’t tell her why; I figured this was the sort of news best coming from you.” Harry sighed, running a hand over his unruly hair. “Ginny swears that was the only time she was…unfaithful. Oddly enough, I believe her. Considering the fact Severus and I had already been involved for a couple of years, I think I would have recognised the signs if she’d been having a long-term affair. She must have been quite a temptation for you, to send you halfway around the world to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

“What the hell was I supposed to do?” Neville’s cup clattered against the saucer, some of the tea spilling over the side. “I betrayed you. I betrayed both of you! How was I supposed to know you were taking it up the arse with Snape all the while?” And now he had a daughter who was dying, and he had run away for nothing? “What ended it? Did she confess to you, or vice versa?”

“Neither, actually.” Harry finished his sandwich and reached for another, unperturbed by Neville’s outburst. “She walked in on us one day, told me she was pregnant again, and walked right back out. Moved out the same day, and the following week we started divorce proceedings. She never said a word that the baby might not be mine; and once Lily was born it didn’t really matter. She looks like Ginny. Mostly.” Eyeing Neville thoughtfully, he added, “Now that I see you, I’m surprised I didn’t notice the resemblance before now.”

“I don’t understand. You just said…”

“She looks like Gin, yes.” Harry nodded. “She’s got her nose and chin, dark red hair and a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks already; but you and Gin both have brown eyes, only yours are rounder in shape. She has your eyes. Come to think of it, I don’t think she’s ever going to lose that baby face, just like her father.”

Neville looked at him helplessly. “Harry…I’ll support her financially, I’ll be in her life one way or the other, but _you’re_ her father in all the ways that count. You’re all she’s ever known. I can’t be expected to take that from you. I won’t. I’ll – I’ll be Uncle Neville, or whatever you and Ginny decide, like I was with James and Albus before I left.”

“You haven’t met her yet.”

~*~

Harry insisted Neville at least finish his tea and eat a sandwich before taking him to St. Mungo’s. Still dazed from the deluge of information, Neville obeyed, nibbling at half of a chicken salad on wheat. His expression must have mirrored the nearly overwhelming tangle of emotion he wrestled against, because Harry managed to keep a discreet silence, speaking again only to ask Neville if he was ready to leave when he set the remainder of his sandwich aside and stood.

The last time Neville had been to St. Mungo’s, it had been to bid his parents farewell before leaving the country. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited a floor other than the fourth, following Harry upstairs to the second. His stomach turned queasily, sick with nerves; and Neville regretted the sandwich. What happened next? How would Ginny react? Did she hate him for running off without so much as a single word?

He stopped when Harry paused before a door leading into a private room, partially concealed by a translucent, shimmering curtain of magic completely covering the doorway. It was like a waterfall, partially concealing and distorting the inhabitants on the opposite side.

“It acts like a disinfectant,” Harry explained, seeing Neville eyeing the barrier distrustfully. “We don’t want Lily accidentally catching dragon pox or any of the other diseases the other patients on this floor suffer from, because she’s so weak she wouldn’t have a chance of fighting it off. It doesn’t hurt going through, just tingles a bit. It’s rather like a Disillusionment charm, and I know you’ve done those.” 

Neville had, years before while co-leading the resistance movement at Hogwarts during the Carrows’ reign of terror. He nodded his understanding, yet made no move to go through the curtain. Harry stepped to one side, ushering Neville forward. He hesitated a moment longer, squaring his shoulders, and stepped through. There was a moment where he felt as though he’d been doused in an ice-cold shower of mint tea, and he was on the other side. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Harry hadn’t followed, and Neville turned back slowly, gaze going to and just as quickly skittering away from the tiny girl lying motionless in the bed, to focus instead on his first sight of Ginny Potter – no, Ginny Weasley once more – for the first time in nearly three years. 

She looked much the same now as she had then, if perhaps more tired, her face lined from worry and lack of sleep, making her appear older. She held Lily’s small hand in both of hers, not looking up when Neville entered the room.

“Have you heard anything from him?” she asked, apparently thinking it was Harry joining her.

“He only just arrived, about two hours ago,” Neville replied, and Ginny’s head jerked toward his voice, eyes widening. “Harry explained some of it before bringing me here.”

“Neville?” Gently, Ginny released Lily’s hand, fingers brushing over the knuckles in a tender caress before rising from her chair. Her arms came around him in a hard, fierce embrace. “Neville, you came. Oh Merlin, you _came_.”

“How could I not?” Neville hugged her back, eyes squeezing shut as she moulded against him, her face buried against his shoulder. She still used the same shampoo he remembered, a light floral scent. “You’ve never been one to beg unless it was important to you.” _Or unless she was caught in the throes of passion._ Neville pushed the thought away, hands cupping Ginny’s elbows as he drew back. “Why did you never tell me?”

Ginny’s gaze dropped, lower lip disappearing between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t completely certain myself, truth be told. There were times I wondered, of course; but Lily looks enough like me no one ever looked closer to see if there was anything of Harry in her, also.”

That part of the story dovetailed with what Harry had told him, and some of the tightness in Neville’s chest eased a bit at her admission. The question of Lily’s true paternity hadn’t been an issue until she’d taken ill. It wasn’t something she’d deliberately withheld from him. 

Neville glanced again toward the bed, torn. It might have been Harry’s infidelities with Snape that had ultimately ended the marriage; but it was his single dalliance with Ginny that had brought the three of them together in the same place at this moment in time. He should have known he couldn’t run from his past, or his mistakes.

“She’s a beautiful little girl,” Ginny murmured, following his gaze. She captured his hand in hers, leading him closer to the bed. “I’m biased, being her mum and all; but others have said the same, so it must be true. Come meet your daughter, Neville.”

He peered over the side of the bed at the sleeping tot. Harry and Ginny were right; at first glance she noticeably favoured Ginny in appearance. The nose, lips, and chin were hers, as were the sweat-dampened red ringlets framing her face. No one seeing her for the first time would ever think she wasn’t Harry’s.

The differences were small, subtle, yet apparent for anyone bothering to look closely. Lily’s hair was auburn rather than bright red; but that could be attributed to a mix between Ginny’s tresses and Harry’s darker locks. Neither of them had such long eyelashes, though, and Neville had seen his reflection in the mirror often enough to recognise those rounded cheeks and round face were all his. Lily’s eyes were closed, but Neville had no reason to doubt Harry’s claim that the shape matched his own, despite the brown colour. Ginny had brown eyes, too, another reason not to ask questions. Why should they, when she was so obviously Ginny’s daughter, Jamie and Al’s sister?

“What happened?” Neville whispered, so as not to wake Lily. He wasn’t sure he was ready to see his eyes looking back at him just yet. “What’s made her so sick, and what are the Healers doing for her?”

“Healer Taggett says it’s Squib Syndrome.” Ginny’s tone was flat. “He says it’s quite rare, which was why I’d never heard of it until now. It happens occasionally in pureblood families, which was what made it so perplexing at first, since Harry’s a halfblood. I guess it’s unheard of in mixed-blood families or Muggleborns. It’s a bit hard to describe in plain English; but essentially after a child shows their first sign of magic it reacts against them...some kind of incompatibility in the blood. The magic becomes more dangerous and difficult to control, and patients are usually kept in a room with dampening wards to muffle any wild magic, and the use of spells are strictly controlled. Healer Taggett and one of the mediwitches are the only ones authorised to use magic in here. I’m surprised Harry didn’t confiscate your wand before letting you past.” 

Ginny bit down on her lip again before continuing. “Eventually, the magic overwhelms them completely, and they burn out. They don’t literally catch fire,” she added hastily, seeing Neville’s horrified expression. “The magic itself burns out. If they survive that, they usually recover with the side effect they’re left a Squib; hence the name. I’m sure the Healer can tell you more, explain it better.”

Neville suppressed a shudder as Ginny described the nature of the ailment, letting out a quiet sigh once she finished. “That explains how you and Harry found out he wasn’t the father, if it’s something only pureblood children suffer from. There’s a treatment, though, yeah?” He didn’t want to think he’d been summoned back to England for the sole purpose of acknowledging his daughter before she died. “Isn’t there something they can do?”

“Healer Taggett can explain it to you tomorrow,” Ginny replied. “Right now I imagine you’re exhausted from travelling and more than a little overwhelmed. Do you have a place to stay? You’re more than welcome to come home with me if you don’t. You could sleep in either Jamie or Al’s room. Either way, I’m sure it would be more comfortable than a room at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“I still have my house. I can stay there.” Neville shook his head. “Thanks for offering, though. I’m sure you’d rather stay here with – with Lily, anyway.”

“No, it’s all right. Harry and I take turns sitting with her,” Ginny explained. “It gives us time to eat, sleep, shower, all that. It’s nearly Harry’s turn. He’ll sit with her this evening, and I’ll come back again around midnight. Besides, I highly doubt you have any food in your house worth eating, not after almost three years. Not to mention you haven’t had a chance to air out anything. I imagine all the towels and linens must smell dreadfully musty, if they don’t already reek of mothballs and doxy repellant.” She looked at Neville, chin firming in the stubborn manner he recognised all too well from their school days, and declared, “You’ll come home for dinner, and that’s final. Just give me a moment to gather my things.”

Picking up a large bag from the floor beside the chair, Ginny bent over the bed, brushing her lips across Lily’s forehead. “Daddy’s going to stay with you for awhile, but Mummy will be back in a few hours, I promise,” she murmured, pushing back a few ringlets. “Stay strong, sweetheart.”

Neville glanced away, feeling something he’d never expected twist inside him. It was one thing to know you had a child who called someone else _Daddy_ , another thing entirely to see and hear the proof for oneself. If only he hadn’t left as he had, fleeing like a Slytherin!

He followed Ginny through the disinfectant curtain to find Harry still waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall and tossing an old Snitch into the air, catching it before it could escape. Straightening at their appearance, he tucked the Snitch back into his robe pocket and looked at Ginny. “How is she?”

“No change. She’s still sleeping, still feverish.” Ginny shifted the bag on her shoulder. “Is Severus joining you later?”

“More than likely.” Harry glanced at Neville, who shrugged. Harry’s love life was none of his business.

“I’ll see you around midnight, then.” Ginny gave Harry a peck on the cheek. “I’m off to feed Neville something a bit more substantial than a sandwich.”

~*~

Ginny’s house was small but neat, filled with all the homey touches now missing from Harry’s place. Neville quickly found himself shooed into the kitchen and into a chair at the breakfast table, not permitted to help while Ginny put on the kettle and began taking out various items from the cupboards and icebox.

“Pasta is easy enough,” she said, setting a pot of water on the cooker and tapping it with her wand. “I’ve got some vegetables I can toss in there, unless you’d prefer a more traditional tomato sauce.”

“No, pasta primavera is fine. Don’t do any more than you must.” Neville watched her set carrots and courgettes and mushrooms to slicing. “At least let me grate the cheese.” He liked plenty of Parmesan with his pasta.

“Suit yourself.” Ginny pulled out the cheese and handed it to him. “Do you know the spell, or do you need a grater?”

“Grater, please.” Neville gave her an abashed smile. “I never learned any of the household charms growing up, and once I moved out on my own I didn’t have anyone to teach me.”

“No one?” Ginny rummaged through a shelf before pulling down a box cheese grater, passing it over. “You make it sound as though you never dated any witches at all after leaving school, and I know that’s not the case.”

Neville started grating, as it gave him an excellent excuse not to look at Ginny. “There were a few, here and there. None of them turned serious enough for me to move in with them and learn housekeeping spells. You can imagine how well that’s going over with Gran. She’s desperate for great-grandchildren.” He paused. She had one now, didn’t she? “Does Gran know?”

“Not yet. It’s not exactly my place to tell, right? The Healer still wants to test you and verify paternity anyway, more for procedural purposes rather than because they don’t believe me. I told them you were the only other possibility.” Ginny finished slicing the vegetables and pulled a fry pan from the cupboard, adding a bit of olive oil to it and tilting the pan to coat before adding the mushrooms and carrots. “Once it’s official you can tell your grandmother, or not. I don’t _need_ you to accept Lily. I _need_ you to save her life, if it’s at all possible. Once that’s done you can run back to Canada if you so choose. I won’t try and talk you out of it.”

“Don’t go placing all the blame on me,” Neville retorted, resuming his grating with more force than needed. “You could have owled at any time, and I would have found a way to come back. You know why I left as much as I do. Look, I know you have every reason to hate me now, but I did what I thought was best at the time.” 

Ginny gave the vegetables another stir, turning down the heat and adding the pasta to the bubbling pot. Turning to face him, she crossed her arms over her breasts. “If I hated you I wouldn’t be cooking dinner for you,” she said. “Do you still think leaving was for the best?”

“I don’t know what to think!” Neville set down the cheese and grater before he threw them down, pushing back his chair. “I left because I was attracted to a close friend who happened to be married to another close friend, and I let that attraction get away from me. I come back to find out one of them is gay, the other’s divorced, and I’m a father because I gave in to temptation _once_. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“No, it was wrong of me to even ask.” Ginny turned back to the cooker, adding the courgettes to the rest of the vegetables. “I know you thought you were doing the right thing; and at the time you were probably right. Neither of us could have known…and you’re right. I could have owled about the pregnancy, and the divorce. I could have done more to keep you in the loop regarding what was happening back home.” She sighed, tucking her hair behind one ear. “You might have gone to extremes to avoid temptation, as you call it; but I went just as far by giving you too much space. Lily’s the only one of my children who never received a toad plushie from you when she was born, because you didn’t know about her. I know Jamie asked this past Christmas why he and Al got pressies from you and Lily didn’t. He thought you were mad at her because she was born a girl.”

Neville’s lips twitched, despite everything. “Typical child logic. He’s, what, five now?”

She nodded. “Yes. Al turns four next month. I can show you pictures of them after we eat, if you want.”

“I’d like that.” Neville tilted his head toward the table. “Is that enough cheese, or do you think I need to grate more?”

“Oh, more, definitely. I’ve always liked a lot of Parmesan with my primavera.”

Neville grated more cheese while Ginny finished with the pasta and vegetables before tossing it all together and dishing up the finished entrée on two plates. Ginny uncorked a bottle of wine to go with the meal, directing Neville to the cupboard where the wineglasses were kept. 

They deliberately avoided discussing Ginny’s failed marriage or Lily’s illness while they ate, by unspoken agreement. Instead, Neville told her about the job he’d taken in Canada, studying the growth habits of various magical plants native to the Pacific Northwest, describing the thriving Wizarding community in Vancouver, and debating whether Alaskan salmon was better than Irish. Afterward, Neville insisted on helping Ginny clear the table and put away the leftovers, as well as helping with the dishes. Washing and drying, it turned out, were one of the few housekeeping charms Neville _did_ know. Once the dishes were washed and put away Ginny brought out her photo albums and they retired to the sofa in the front room.

“This is one of Lily taken the day she was born,” Ginny said, pointing to a close-up shot of a tiny wrinkled face, crowned with a tuft of red hair, squinting into the camera and yawning. “She had a set of lungs on her, let me tell you. Put Jamie and Al to shame, she did. She was a good baby, all things considered. Not as much trouble as Jamie, not as quiet as Al.”

“Her own personality,” Neville noted. He watched Ginny turn the page and stilled as the next image was revealed, his throat suddenly grown uncomfortably tight.

The photograph showed Lily at about six months, wearing a dark blue dress trimmed with frills of white lace, a stuffed Snitch clutched between pudgy, dimpled hands. Her smile was wide and filled with delight, proudly displaying two teeth. It was the eyes that captured Neville’s attention, however.

Her eyes were indisputably Neville’s, wide-spaced and round beneath the more delicate arch of her eyebrows, bequeathed to her from Ginny. He made a small sound in his throat as the _reality_ of the situation finally sank in and stayed, looking up from the photograph to meet Ginny’s questioning gaze.

“She really is mine, isn’t she?” Too late he realised his how his question could be taken completely out of context; but Ginny only smiled, covering her hand with his.

“She really is.”

“But…I don’t know how to be a dad!” He didn’t know what fathers were supposed to do; he’d never truly had one while growing up to know the difference between a good one and bad. “I don’t know how, much less be some kind of co-father! What if I mess up?”

“You won’t mess up.” Ginny laid her head on his shoulder and turned to a new page. “You’ll learn as you go along, just like the rest of us.”

Lily grew before his eyes with each new photograph: crawling, then walking, then running. There were pictures of her with her brothers; pictures of her with Ginny and Harry, together and separately; even pictures of her with Snape, each with an accompanying story. Seeing the ones with Snape hurt most of all, Neville discovered. He’d missed so much because of his self-imposed exile, and he had no one to blame but himself.

“I should go,” he said, once Ginny had finished taking him on his visual journey through the photo albums. 

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night,” she protested. “I don’t mind. I want you here.”

“I can’t.” Neville shook his head and stood. “I’ve got enough to sort through as it is without adding you to the equation. I…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Ginny looked up at him, her expression solemn, and set the album on her lap to one side, standing also. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around his waist in a brief hug before standing back. “I know this can’t be easy for you. I – I guess I just wanted you to know it’s not too late, for any of it. There’s a place for you, if you decide it’s what you want.”

“Thanks, Gin. It means a lot.” Neville bent his head, kissing Ginny on the cheek. His lips lingered a few seconds longer than was needful or polite. She looked up at him when he finally drew back, eyes wide, looking as though she’d temporarily forgotten how to breathe. Neville resisted the urge to kiss her again, properly this time, and nodded instead. “Good night, Ginny. I’ll see you at St. Mungo’s tomorrow.”

~*~

Neville stopped by Diagon Alley the next morning, following a night spent tossing and turning in spite of the jetlag resulting from long-distance Portkey travel. His first port of call was the Leaky Cauldron for one of Tom’s breakfast fry-ups. Comfortably full, Neville’s next stop was a gift shop that had opened after the war, where he made a few purchases. Only then did he go to St Mungo’s.

Ginny wasn’t supposed to arrive for her next turn to sit with Lily until noon, and Neville wasn’t yet ready to face the potential sight of Harry and Snape together in anything resembling a romantic context. He did, however, submit to a paternity test, which verified beyond doubt that he was indeed Lily Luna’s biological father. Having seen the girl yesterday and looked at pictures documenting the first two years of her life, Neville wasn’t at all surprised when the result came back positive. Once the mediwitch gave him the results, he went to visit his parents.

Mum and Dad liked the flowers he brought with him, as well as the colouring books. They didn’t recognise him, which Neville had expected and long ago learned to accept. However, after such a long period of time between now and his last visit, a small part of him had hoped for some sign they had at least _missed_ him while he’d been away. That hope was quickly dashed within the first five minutes, as they seemed more interested in picking off petals from the bouquet. Mum handed him two sweets wrappers as he prepared to leave while the mediwitches began serving lunch to the ward residents, patting his hand and giving him a wavering smile. Kissing her on the forehead, he clasped Dad on the shoulder in farewell, receiving another shy, blank smile in return, and left.

Retracing his steps, Neville made his way down to the second floor, slowing as he drew nearer Lily’s room. _His daughter._

“Neville!” Harry’s voice rang out behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps racing to catch up. “Ginny said you were going to come back later today. We’ve been waiting for you. Healer Taggett wants to have a word with Lily’s parents. All of them, so to speak, since she has four parents now. Sort of. Well, you know what I mean.”

Strangely enough, Neville did. “Snape, too? Severus, I mean.” The name felt strange on his tongue.

“I said four parents, didn’t I? Come on, everyone else is waiting in Healer Taggett’s office. Ginny said you’d probably come by around lunch.” Taking Neville by the elbow, Harry steered him past Lily’s sickroom and further down the corridor.

Healer Ambrose Taggett was a tall, portly man in his mid-fifties, with bright blue eyes and a stiff shock of salt-and-pepper hair. He stood as Harry ushered Neville into the office, coming around the desk and holding out a hand.

“Mr Longbottom, I take it?” he asked, engulfing Neville’s hand in his even larger one and giving it a firm shake. 

“Yes, sir.” Neville nodded, gaze flicking momentarily toward Ginny before focusing once more on the Healer.

“Sit down, sit down, we’ve a few things to discuss.” Neville took the empty chair next to Ginny, while Harry sat down beside an obviously sardonically amused Snape and the Healer returned to his spot behind his desk, shuffling through some parchment. “I’ve just received your test results from this morning, Mr Longbottom, verifying your biological paternity to Miss, um, Potter. Has anyone explained the nature of her illness to you?”

“Ginny told me it was something called Squib Syndrome,” Neville replied. “She said it had to do with some kind of incompatibility in the blood, making her magic turn against her? And that if it doesn’t kill her it’ll make her a Squib?”

“That’s the situation in a nutshell, yes.” Healer Taggett beamed at Neville’s summation, clearly pleased. “It used to be much more common in my grandfather and great-grandfather’s day, back when the old Wizarding families mainly intermarried between each other and mixed-blood marriages were rarer than they are now. How much do you know about genetics?”

Neville shook his head, but Harry nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Something like some traits are dominant, while others are recessive? Brown eyes are dominant, and blue is recessive, so two blue-eyed parents will almost always have blue-eyed children, but two brown-eyed parents will occasionally have a blue-eyed child. However, if one parent has brown eyes and the other has blue, there’s a good chance at least one of their children will have blue eyes. The same goes for dark hair versus blond, or curly hair versus straight.” He hesitated, glancing over to Neville and Ginny. “I know there are diseases, conditions, in the Muggle world that are genetically-based as well, but I’m not quite sure how it works.”

“It sounds like the work some of my colleagues do, the ones who specialise in crossbreeding plants,” Neville said, “only they end up with plants with pink flowers rather than blue eyes. Except with the plants it’s intentional.”

“Precisely.” Healer Taggett beamed again. “Children are made up of half of each parent, a mix of dominant and recessive genes and traits that make them unique individuals. Occasionally, however, a gene will mutate in such a way that it’s unable to perform the function it’s meant to do. Many times it won’t affect the parent, but in the right combination it will affect their child, and this is what happened with little Lily. In this case, it’s one of the genes that affects magical ability.”

Ginny reached over, her hand linking with Neville’s. “You’re saying it’s our fault she’s sick. That if Neville and I ever had more children they’d also get this Squib Syndrome.” Neville looked at her sharply, eyes wide, and Ginny blushed. “Hypothetically speaking. Or is it just one of us who gave Lily this…flawed gene?”

“No, no, no.” Healer Taggett shook his head. “Lily’s condition required both parents to pass on a copy of the mutated gene, but it certainly won’t happen with each child. Let me demonstrate.”

Pulling a sheet of parchment toward him, the Healer drew a diagram of Lily’s family tree, labelled with either ‘WW’, ‘Ww’, or ‘ww’. “Here are your parents, Miss Weasley,” he explained, “and here are Mr Longbottom’s. Your father is ‘WW’ and your mother is ‘Ww’, as are both of Mr Longbottom’s parents, meaning that three out of four of Lily’s grandparents carried a copy of the mutated gene. With you, Miss Weasley, they would have either passed on ‘WW’ or ‘Ww’ to you. Mr Longbottom could have inherited either ‘WW’, ‘Ww’, _or_ ‘ww’ from his parents. You both turned out ‘Ww’.” He tapped the diagram with his finger.

“Like my parents. Only instead of being ‘Ww’ like this,” Neville pointed to his and Ginny’s places on the family tree, “she got the little ‘w’ from both of us. So there would be a one-in-four chance of us having another baby like Lily. Hypothetically speaking,” he added when Ginny echoed his sharp, wide-eyed glance from earlier. Neville could have sworn he heard Snape stifle a chuckle, but didn’t turn to look. “Basically, it’s a crapshoot.”

“A one-in-four chance, yes,” Healer Taggett agreed, nodding. “Along with a one-in-four chance future children will be born ‘WW’ as was Ginny’s father, and a fifty-fifty chance they would be born ‘Ww’ as yourselves, capable of passing on the mutated gene while being unaffected by it. Carriers, we call them.”

Ginny crossed her arms, glaring. “Fine, we know how Lily got it. What I want to know is whether or not anything can be done to save her. Why else bring Neville all the way here just to tell him he passed on a mutant recessive gene to his daughter?”

“The one he never knew he had until yesterday,” Snape added, and Neville drew a slow breath to maintain control of his temper. The other man was _definitely_ amused.

“Sev,” Harry murmured warningly. “It’s not funny.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Snape said smoothly. “It does, however, go a long way toward explaining why Lily enjoyed playing in the dirt so much before she took ill.”

“Magic is truly in the blood,” Healer Taggett said, steering the discussion back on course. “However, Lily and Miss Weasley do not share the same blood type. She inherited that from her father, and that fact significantly increases the odds of successful treatment.”

Neville leaned forward. “Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do it.”

“Well, there are still a few tests we need to perform…” the Healer began, but Neville overrode him.

“Then we’d best get started, shouldn’t we?”

Thirty minutes later Neville found himself in a hospital gown, sharing a room with Lily while he was poked, prodded, scanned and tested for everything imaginable, ensuring he was perfectly and completely healthy, with no unknown hidden illnesses or infections lurking in his body. He concentrated on holding still, letting the whorls and sheets of mult-coloured light from Healer Taggett’s diagnostic spells surround him, enduring the varying levels of discomfort without complaint.

Once he was pronounced healthy as a hippogriff, Neville was finally allowed to lie back on his bed, feeling more than a little dazed from the barrage of spells while Healer Taggett described the course of treatment. Ginny actually plumped his pillows for him while he settled back onto the separate bed that had been moved into the room with Lily. He wanted to reach up and smooth the line of worry that had appeared between her brows, tell her everything was going to be just fine; but he kept silent.

“Lily’s parents are both carriers of the disorder, and because of this they’ve both managed to build up resistance to the illness,” he explained. “However, because Mr Longbottom shares the same blood type as Lily, his magic is more compatible with the type currently trying to manifest in Lily and failing. What I intend to do is capture some of Mr Longbottom’s magic and infuse it into Lily, and we’ll use Miss Weasley’s magic to do it. She will be the bridge between the two, the catalyst. I’d like to begin the first treatment this evening, once Mr. Longbottom here has had a chance to recover from his examination.”

~*~

Harry and Snape left once the consultation was done, leaving Ginny alone with Lily and Neville for the noon to six shift. They’d return that evening, just before Healer Taggett began the spellwork needed for the first treatment.

Although tired from the rather thorough physical he’d just undergone, Neville didn’t feel like sleeping. He knew he should, but he was too nervous about what was to come. He’d sleep afterward, once he knew it was working. Sitting up in bed, he wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Ginny chided, looking up from Lily.

“I’m resting. I’m still in bed, aren’t I? It counts.” Neville smiled angelically. It faded when his gaze fell on the other bed and its unmoving occupant. “She hasn’t wakened at all since I arrived.”

“The Healers keep her sedated.” Standing, Ginny moved her chair between the two beds. “It helps prevent bursts of wild magic. It’s less liable to happen if she’s asleep than if she’s awake. If these treatments work, you’ll get your chance to meet her properly. She’s not shy, I can tell you that much. Stubborn, too.”

“So she’s more like you in personality,” Neville said. “More outgoing.”

“Yes.” Ginny nodded and sat down, looking at her folded hands in her lap. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Anything?” One corner of Ginny’s mouth quirked upward. “You may regret that. I was wondering about what you said last night, about being attracted to a friend. I – I guess I’m wondering how long you’ve been fighting against it. It must have been awhile, if the guilt of giving in sent you all the way to Canada afterward. Strong, too.” She peeked up at him from studying her hands and straightened, meeting his eyes forthrightly. “I suppose what I really want to know is whether or not your self-imposed exile worked.”

Neville had somewhat expected the question, or at least part of it. Naturally she’d want to know how long he’d wanted her. He hadn’t expected her to ask whether or not he was still interested. Did that mean - ?

“Honestly? I’ve liked you to one extent or another since I was fifteen. I think it was safe to say I had a full-fledged crush on you by the time I was seventeen. Why do you think I took sole responsibility for so many of the pranks we pulled on the Carrows that year? It was never that I thought you couldn’t handle the sort of punishments they liked to dole out, I just didn’t want you to.” Neville lifted a shoulder. “It was the least I could do to show I cared. I knew you’d fancied Harry since you were an ickle firstie, and the expression on your face when you came through the tunnel and saw him again? I knew I didn’t stand a chance.” He shrugged again. “So I tried to move on. You were happy, and the war was over. It was time to find some of that happiness for myself, you know? Besides, girls had never looked at me twice until after the war, and suddenly they were.”

“I remember. It seemed you had a different girl on your arm every month for at least first year after.”

“Yeah, and most of those lasted about as long.” Neville shook his head, remembering the first months and years after the war, when he’d had his pick of girls for the first time in his life. Those brief flings had taught him a lot, not only about life and love and what women liked in bed, but also the things he most wanted in a relationship and the type of person he wanted to settle down with eventually. He was much more selective nowadays, maybe too much so. “There were a couple of people I saw in Canada too, but nothing came out of that either.”

“You’re still waiting for that connection,” Ginny observed. “That someone you know you can say anything to, who’ll be there no matter what. What I thought I had with Harry.”

“Maybe.” Propping his chin on his knees, Neville asked, “What about you? Have you dated at all since you and Harry split?”

“One blind date. Never again.” Ginny snorted. Seeing Neville’s expression, she explained, “I was set up with Zacharias Smith, of all people. The date didn’t last very long, as you can well imagine. I figured I ought to quit while I was still ahead, before someone attempted to match me with Draco Malfoy, or worse.”

“He still hasn’t forgiven you for the broom incident?”

“Nope.” Ginny snickered. “That, or the Bat-Bogey hex I tossed his way. He certainly knows how to hold a grudge.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“I thought I had one with Harry, a connection,” Ginny continued, her face pensive. “Looking back, I realise what we had was something I wished into being, rather than something that truly existed on its own. All the signs were there, but I chose to ignore them. I should have known something was up when Harry insisted on giving Severus as a middle name to Al, but really it went back even further, all the way to the beginning of the marriage. Did you know it was six months before Harry realised I was finishing with my hand after we had sex?”

“I...um...no. I didn’t.” Neville felt his face heat, not sure if he ought to be privy to such intimate information.

Ginny took in Neville’s blush and reddened. “Sorry. That was probably more than you ever wanted or needed to know, and I don’t want to give the impression all of our problems were physical in nature, although coming home to find your husband in bed with another man definitely counts in that category.” Her eyes turned back to the hands in her lap. “No, it wasn’t only physical. Harry and I are both reckless, impetuous people with a similar sense of humour. We’re amused by the same things, and we’re both outraged by most of the same things. We both have that Gryffindor tendency to leap before we look. We probably could have made the marriage work with that, Harry’s attraction to men notwithstanding.”

“What went wrong, then?” Neville asked. “Other than Harry having an affair with Snape?”

Ginny lifted a shoulder, not looking up from her hands. “I could talk to him, but he couldn’t talk to me, or wouldn’t. He could talk to Ron, or Hermione, but whenever he had something to confide, it seemed I was never his first choice. That lack of trust hurt. That, and he was always so...self-contained, emotionally. Don’t get me wrong, he lost his temper nearly as much as I did, but when it came to other things, he’d draw away. He always seemed uncomfortable if I needed a shoulder to cry on, or if I showed anything besides happiness or anger. He relates better with people capable of hiding what they feel, and maybe that’s why he seems so much more content with Severus than he ever did with me. They communicate without emotion, and they both seem to like it that way.”

“He liked it that way, and you don’t.”

“It’s a lonely way to live. I won’t go through that again.” Ginny sniffed and looked up, brown eyes over-bright. “I’m sorry I scared you off. I’ve always been able to talk to you, about everything. I think I was trying to find in you what I was missing from Harry. I thought I saw it there in you, but I was being selfish, making the same mistake in different ways. I wanted it, and therefore if I tried hard enough I could make it happen with you, too. And it didn’t work that way. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise, because to an extent I was the same way. Everyone I ever dated, all those relationships that only lasted a few weeks at most...I think they didn’t work because, well, because they weren’t you. There’s only one you, and you were Harry’s. I’m not saying what we did was right, because it wasn’t, but those hours I had with you were golden ones.” They’d talked, they’d laughed, they’d made love all afternoon, one perfect afternoon of what could have been. “I don’t regret it.”

“You don’t regret it, but you still left.”

“You were married, and if it happened once, it could happen again. I couldn’t do that to Harry, or to you.” Neville shook his head, trying to find the right words. “Yes, I knew things had broken down between you and Harry, or else there never would have been an infidelity in the first place; but how was I supposed to know the damage was all but irreparable? I didn’t know Harry preferred blokes, and by all accounts you didn’t either. I left because I thought if I was out of the picture there still might be a chance you could salvage your marriage to Harry. You were happy with him once. I thought you might find a way to be happy with him again, that you should at least try.”

“Stupid, noble Gryffindor,” Ginny accused, her accompanying smile both fond and a touch sad. Glancing over to a still-sleeping Lily, she rose from her chair in favour of perching on the edge of Neville’s bed. 

“Leap before we look, that’s us,” Neville agreed.

“Then leap with me.” Ginny reached out, cupping Neville’s cheek in one warm palm. “The strings are cut, there’s nothing holding us back. Maybe both of us can finally be happy.”

“It’s not that simple...” It couldn’t be. Nothing ever was.

Ginny leaned closer. “We’ll figure it out.”

Neville glanced toward the other bed, where Lily lay. “In front of your daughter?”

“Our daughter,” Ginny corrected, getting up long enough to draw the privacy curtain around Neville’s bed. “There. Now there’s nothing for anyone to see. Now hush, and leap with me.”

Bending her head, Ginny pressed her lips to his. They were soft and warm and firm, gentle and sweet and oh, so careful, so different from last time. Neville’s hands lifted to her chest, unsure and hesitant, and found himself leaning into the kiss, mouth parting beneath hers as the tip of her tongue touched his lower lip. Breathing out a quiet sigh, Neville shifted on the bed, both arms going around Ginny, drawing her close. His lips pressed against hers more firmly, the brush of his tongue against hers soft and tentative, deepening with a slow and gradual sense of inevitability. 

Breaking off the kiss, he buried his face against Ginny’s neck, trying to breathe, to think. Her lips brushed over the fine hair at his temple, murmuring, “You feel it too, don’t you? Still?”

Closing his eyes, Neville whispered “Yes,” and leaped into the unknown as he kissed her again.

~*~

Neville did manage to grab a few winks during the afternoon, but only after trading several more kisses with Ginny until she got off the bed and ordered him to close his eyes and rest. It turned out that lingering jet-lag and the incessant tossing and turning of the previous night prior to meeting Lily for the first time was greater than his anxiety over taking part in Lily’s first treatment that evening.

Healer Taggett strode into the room soon after Neville finished dinner that evening, accompanied by a mediwitch. Harry and Snape followed a few minutes later. Neville wondered how long it would take before he remembered to call or think of him as Severus. Possibly never. Harry nearly vibrated with nervous tension, until Snape – no, Severus – touched his shoulder.

The mediwitch worked over Lily for several minutes, checking vital signs and renewing the charms keeping her sedated, hydrated, and fed. Once done, she stepped over to Neville’s bed and ran a simple diagnostic check on him with her wand before nodding at Healer Taggett. “We’re ready,” she said.

“Excellent, excellent,” the Healer replied, drawing his wand from a pocket of his lime-green robes. Neville tensed instinctively; there had been few times in his life when a wand pointed his way amounted to something good.

“Does it hurt?” he blurted before he could prevent it.

“No, it’s not painful,” Healer Taggett assured him. “You may feel some rather intense and even contradictory sensations during the process bordering on the hallucinogenic, but if you should happen to experience any discomfort at all, do tell me and we’ll stop until we figure out the problem.”

“What about Lily?” Harry asked, his voice anguished. “Will she feel any pain? Will she feel anything at all? She’s suffered so much already.”

“Lily won’t be hurt, either,” Healer Taggett said gently. “The main difference is once the process is over Mr. Longbottom here will most likely feel rather tired and drained, which is quite normal since that’s precisely what we’ll be doing to him. I wouldn’t be surprised, on the other hand, if Lily’s fever goes down almost immediately and she regains a bit of natural colour in her cheeks instead. Now, are we ready to begin?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Neville replied. Ginny gave his hand a squeeze; Neville saw Snape’s lips twitch. Oh yes, he was _definitely_ amused by the turn of events.

Lying back when the Healer instructed him to, Neville turned his head, giving Ginny a nervous smile. She, in turn, was told to take the chair midway between Neville’s bed and Lily’s. Once she was placed where the Healer wanted her, he lifted his wand and began chanting a series of complicated spells in a singsong voice, wand hand moving in an intricate dance, drawing and slashing at the air.

A white mist formed around Ginny, thickening like London fog until she appeared as a pale shadow in its midst. Slowly, the magical mist brightened and congealed around her, separating into snowy white, interwoven strands, much like a fisherman’s net, only with a faint glow. Ginny peered out between the strands and winked, eliciting relieved chuckles from both Harry and Neville. 

“All right, Mum, your part in this is done,” Healer Taggett murmured, concentrating on the glowing net around Ginny. Raising his wand, he began chanting again, the cadence subtly different than before. The net lifted from around Ginny, drifting through the air to hover over Neville. He looked up at it in trepidation, watching it lower until it settled around him, covering him like a shroud.

Healer Taggett continued chanting, the movements of his wand altering slightly, and Neville felt something akin to electric shock ripple along every nerve as the white net touched him, moulding against him like a second skin. 

He’d been warned about intense and contradictory sensations, and Neville was glad for it. He was buffeted by waves of freezing heat and burning cold, simultaneously crushed into the hospital bed’s hard mattress while floating near the ceiling. He could _see_ the words to the intricate spell spilling past Healer Taggett’s lips in curlicued scrolls, _smell_ his wand movements like ozone after a lightning strike, sharp and acrid. Ginny’s hair glowed cherry red, while Harry’s and Snape’s absorbed all the light around them. 

Fascinated, Neville lifted a hand, watching the white net webbing his skin begin to glow and pulse, imbuing with colour, red and green and pink and purple and blue, each with their own sound and taste, seeping from him in droplets and soaking into the magical strands covering him, whirling and spinning faster and faster along each interwoven piece in ever-changing whorled rainbows and prisms of light. It finally culminated in a blinding flash and an ear-splitting crack, the distorted images and sounds and sensations ending abruptly as the net released Neville and rose, shimmering with an oddly beautiful pearlescent glow, the riotous colours now muted within the net’s weave. 

“Neville?” Ginny took his hand in hers, her voice hushed. “How do you feel?”

He blinked at her owlishly, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Tired,” he murmured, turning his head on the pillow to watch the glowing net move to the opposite side of the room. He hadn’t felt such draining, bone-crushing exhaustion since the hours immediately following Voldemort’s death and the end of the Second War. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Ginny snorted under her breath, her gaze following his as the glimmering net – now drenched with Neville’s magical essence – floated across the room, directed by Healer Taggett’s incessant chanting, and settled over Lily’s tiny form, contouring against her as it had moments earlier with Neville. The net dissipated into coloured mist moments later, absorbed into Lily’s skin with a faint hissing sound. Only then did Healer Taggett cease chanting, his arm falling to his side, shoulders slumping with an exhaustion Neville fully sympathised with.

“That went well,” he said, his tone cheerful despite his lengthy exertions, motioning to the mediwitch. The woman crossed to Neville, waving her wand over him. He felt a cool tingle along his skin, lifting some of the tiredness weighting him down, but not all. Smiling reassuringly, the mediwitch moved to Lily’s bed and performed a similar diagnostic spell on the little girl while Ginny and Harry looked on in desperate hope.

“Her fever’s down,” the mediwitch reported. 

Ginny burst into happy tears, one hand lifting to cover her mouth, the other tightening around Neville’s. Harry gave Ginny an uneasy glance at her sudden emotional display, but his relief was palpable, tension leaking from his body, leaving him looking less tightly wound. Snape touched his shoulder, and he managed a shaky smile.

“What happens now?” Snape asked imperiously. “Will there be need for further treatment?”

“I’ve scheduled two more for tomorrow,” Healer Taggett replied. “One in the morning and one in the evening. Fortunately for Mr. Longbottom, subsequent treatments won’t be nearly as enervating. Considering Lily will require continued treatment weekly until she reaches puberty, after which she should be able to both maintain and control her own magical abilities, I’m sure he finds that something of a relief.”

“I guess that means I’m here until day after tomorrow?” Neville asked, the words slow and thick. Ginny hurriedly wiped her eyes and poured a glass of water, holding it to his lips. Neville drank gratefully; his throat really was awfully dry.

“That’s so. I promise you’ll be feeling a great deal more like yourself, and so will young Lily.” Healer Taggett sounded quite pleased. “We’ll wean her from the sedative tonight and allow her some natural sleep, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she woke tomorrow.”

“I suppose this means we’re both staying overnight?” Harry asked, exchanging glances with Ginny. “Somehow, I don’t see Ginny staying away from Lily _and_ Neville until midnight.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she declared.

Healer Taggett looked between them, smiling. “I’ll have another cot brought in.” He looked at Snape. “Or should I make that three total?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Snape replied, looking between Harry, Ginny, and Neville. “Someone should stay and monitor the home fires. Harry, shall I Firecall the Burrow and inform them of Lily’s most recent prognosis?”

“Yes, please,” Ginny and Harry answered in unison. They exchanged glances and smiled.

Neville made a small huffing sound and closed his eyes. It sounded as though everything was going to be just fine, and his participation was no longer needed. He was asleep less than a minute later.

~*~

Neville woke sometime in the early morning, scrubbing at the stubble on his face with one hand and regretting the fact he’d foregone shaving yesterday before arriving at St. Mungo’s. If he’d known that he’d also end up an overnight patient, he might have come better prepared. He still hadn’t given Lily the toad plushie he’d purchased for her.

The privacy curtain was drawn around his bed, but judging from the silence Neville assumed Ginny and Harry were still asleep in the cots flanking Lily’s bed. Pushing into a sitting position with his elbows, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked.

He had a visitor.

“Professor Snape, good morning,” he greeted cautiously, voice morning-hoarse. “I thought you’d volunteered to keep the home fires burning.”

“The home fires are burning fine without my hovering,” Snape replied. “I sent Harry and the former Mrs. Potter out for some breakfast. Lily didn’t wake during the night, and if she hasn’t by now I highly doubt she will before the next treatment. If you’re fortunate Ginevra will return with a muffin or two to spare you from the hospital swill they insist upon calling food. You rested well, I trust?”

“Well enough, I guess,” Neville said, still wary. He knew the history, of course. Snape had been a spy for Dumbledore during the war, and Voldemort had tried to kill him, leaving him for dead in the Shrieking Shack. Harry had gone back after the battle to retrieve his body, only to find him still clinging to life. It had taken months before he’d fully recovered from Nagini’s bite. The fact Snape had been working for Dumbledore all along explained why Neville hadn’t had to serve as many detentions with the Carrows as he knew he’d ought; but this was still, to Neville’s recollection, the closest he and Snape had been to a civilised conversation. It felt...odd.

Snape smiled thinly, recognising Neville’s discomfiture. “You’re wondering why I’m sitting here at your bedside, rather than my stepdaughter’s,” he stated. 

“I, um, yes.” He’d always been too damned perceptive to Neville’s liking. It was probably what had made him such an excellent spy. “I’m sure you have a good reason, Professor.”

“Just Snape will do. I haven’t taught for many years, nor do I miss it.” He gave Neville another thin smile. “Besides, I highly doubt you’re prepared to address me by my given name just yet. Ginevra still has trouble with it.”

“Snape, then. You still haven’t said why you’re sitting next to me instead of Lily.”

“You Gryffindors and your utter lack of subtlety,” Snape said, but there was, surprisingly, no mockery or sarcasm in the remark. Or maybe not so surprisingly, Neville thought. Harry seemed to have mellowed Snape in some ways. “I’m given to understand you were the one who slew Nagini.”

“Yes, but only because Harry asked me to do it,” Neville replied. “He asked, so I did it. There really wasn’t anything more than that behind the deed.” It certainly hadn’t been worth the post-war publicity and the accompanying notoriety.

“Perhaps, but I wanted to...thank you, regardless of how it happened. You’ve no idea how much I loathed that creature. I would have slain it myself, had I been given the time and opportunity. I’m pleased to know it perished.”

Neville did his best not to boggle. It was strange enough knowing Snape and Harry were lovers, strange enough to be chatting with the man who’d once intimidated him so badly. Being the recipient of his _gratitude_? Neville’s already topsy-turvy existence tipped a bit further at this fresh evidence of how much things had changed since he’d left England.

“You’re welcome,” he said instead. “It was my pleasure.”

Snape nodded once, and abruptly changed the subject. “What do you intend to do, now that you know the truth, that you are Lily’s true father? What role do you intend to play in her life?”

“I don’t know.” Neville crossed his legs on the bed, leaning forward. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Harry and Ginny. I told them I’d support Ginny and Lily financially, whatever they needed; but Lily thinks Harry’s her father, and it’s obvious he loves her like she was his own. I don’t want to take that from him. I’m more than willing to be an uncle to her; and if Harry and Ginny want to tell her the truth when she’s older, I won’t stop them. I have no intention of abandoning either of them.”

“An uncle, rather than a potential stepfather?” Snape’s brows rose. “I was under the impression you still held Ginevra in some regard beyond mere friendship. Am I mistaken? More importantly, is Ginevra mistaken?”

This time, Neville did stare, gobsmacked. “What?”

“Come now, Longbottom. I’d hoped the years since leaving school would have raised your intelligence somewhat,” Snape said acerbically, sounding much more like the professor Neville had known and feared in his teenage years. “Do you, or do you not, have even the smallest approximation of romantic feeling toward the former Mrs. Potter? Or was the one-night stand that produced Lily all you wanted or needed from her?”

“No!” Neville shouted. Glancing toward Lily’s bed, he lowered his voice. “No. I do care for her, more than I probably should. I think a part of me has always been in love with her, at least a little bit. She’s always loved Harry, though, and I’ve tried to make do with being her friend. If she...if she...” He couldn’t say it aloud, as if voicing his hope meant taking it away. “I don’t want to rush anything. The past two days have been life-changing enough for all of us, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps you think of it as rushing things,” Snape said, smoothing a tiny wrinkle from his robes, “but for Ginevra it’s been three years. I daresay she wouldn’t consider any advances from you as hasty.”

“I – I don’t...” Neville began protesting again, but he was overridden.

“Not many people get a second chance at life to amend their mistakes,” Snape said quietly. Rising from his chair, he pulled back the privacy curtain, turning to meet Neville’s bewildered gaze with calm black eyes. “Fewer still get a second chance at love. I suggest you don’t waste it. You may not get a third opportunity.”

~*~

Ginny and Harry returned shortly after the surreal conversation with Snape. Ginny set a parcel on Neville’s bed, looking apologetic.

“I took the liberty of Flooing to your house and picking up a few things for you,” she explained, handing him two ham-and-cheese scones. “Your dressing gown’s in there, your toothbrush, your shaving kit, a few other toiletries. I hope you don’t mind.”

Neville shook his head, deliberately not looking over to where Snape leaned against the wall. He could _feel_ his former professor’s smirk from his spot on the bed. “Ginny, you didn’t have to, but thanks. It’s very thoughtful of you. I’d wondered when I’d get to shave next.”

“I rather like the stubble,” Ginny said, and Neville blushed.

The scones were a vast improvement over the glue-like porridge brought to him for his breakfast, and Neville gladly ate those instead. He wished she’d brought back a decent cup of tea as well, but after everything else Ginny had done for him he wasn’t going to complain about something as trivial as watery tea.

Healer Taggett returned after breakfast, and the second treatment was done. The process still left Neville feeling like a washed-out rag, but it wasn’t nearly as exhausting or as hallucinogenic as the first time, and the Healer assured him again his energy levels would only improve with subsequent treatments.

Snape left following the morning treatment, saying he had business to attend to, but Harry stayed behind. Ginny had brought back a deck of Exploding Snap cards, while Harry produced a sack filled with a variety of sweets from Honeydukes; and the three of them passed the morning dealing rounds of cards and enjoying Chocolate Frogs and Peppermint Humbugs.

They were interrupted mid-round by sounds of stirring from the other bed. Harry froze from his spot at the end of the bed, his expression one of desperate hope. Ginny set down her hand of cards, not caring whether anyone saw them or not, and hurried across the room to Lily’s bed. Neville kept silent and still, watching.

“Lily? Honey? Sweetheart?” Ginny stroked her daughter’s hair back from her forehead, voice catching on a choked sob when the little girl’s eyes fluttered and opened.

“Mummy...”

Harry nearly ran from the room to fetch the Healer, spurred by Ginny’s cry of joy.

~*~

One day and three treatments later, Neville was released from St. Mungo’s.

Lily had improved enough for Healer Taggett to declare her recovered enough for eventual release in another couple of days. She would still require treatment once a week until she reached puberty, but she was effectively out of danger, with her magical abilities intact. Harry and Snape had agreed to stay with her overnight, giving Ginny the opportunity to accompany Neville home.

He blinked in astonishment as he exited the Floo, looking around the sitting room. Ginny stood beside him, looking smug. “You told me you’d dropped by to pick up a few things while I was in hospital,” he said, setting down his overnight bag. “You didn’t tell me you’d stayed long enough to clean the house!”

“Surprise,” Ginny said, cracking a grin. “I did this today, after Lily’s morning treatment. It didn’t take long, truly. The place was dusty more than anything else, and it needed a good airing out, but other than that I didn’t have to do all that much. I took the liberty of stocking your kitchen, too. Why don’t you take your things upstairs, and I’ll start dinner? I bought a beefsteak for the occasion. You need to keep up your strength.”

Neville, who felt perfectly strong and healthy, merely lifted a brow in question, receiving an innocent smile in response. Perhaps a little _too_ innocent; Harry and Snape had already appeared entirely too eager to send Neville home with Ginny than was seemly.

He smelled a set-up. 

Not that he minded. This was a set-up he was more than willing to go along with. Picking up the overnight bag again, he obediently went upstairs to his room and unpacked before indulging in his first hot, decent shower since returning to England. Afterward, he dressed in clothing more appropriate for a dinner date than a tee shirt and jeans and returned downstairs.

“Need any help?” he asked, strolling into the kitchen.

Ginny shook her head, turning the steak in the pan. “No, I’ve got everything under control here. I’ll let you set the table though, since you know where the dishes and silverware are kept. I only cleaned the house; I didn’t snoop through it.”

“Fair enough.” Neville gathered plates, cutlery and wineglasses, carrying them into the dining room. Ginny had brought a bottle of wine along with the beefsteak, so he uncorked the bottle and poured while she finished the meal, helping her carry in the food over her protests.

Neville tucked into the steak and roasted potatoes with a hearty appetite, a part of him amused by the fact that this was only the second truly decent meal he’d had since coming back, and that Ginny had cooked for him then, too. The steak was perfect, pink and juicy in the centre, the potatoes moist and tender with a bit of crunch from roasting, the salad greens crisp and garden fresh.

He let Ginny control the conversation this time as they ate, listening to stories about James and Albus, her co-workers in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the continuing misery of Ron’s beloved yet hapless Chudley Cannons, the number of times her brothers and their wives had made her an aunt since he’d been away, as well as marriages and births among their former school classmates.

“I also hear that Professor Sprout is planning to retire soon, if not this year then definitely after the next,” she added, suddenly and unexpectedly. “They’re going to need a new Herbology professor if that’s the case. Maybe you ought to apply for the position.” Ginny looked down at her plate, concentrating very hard on cutting another piece of steak. “That is, unless you were planning to Portkey here from Canada once a week for Lily’s treatments. I’d think that would become something of a nuisance after a while.”

“I’m going to have to anyway, at least for a few weeks,” Neville replied. “There are some projects I was working on that I’d like to see through to completion; but once those are finished I fully intend to move back here permanently. I’ve got Lily to think of now, after all.”

Ginny was silent for a moment, toying at her salad with her fork. “Is that all that’s bringing you back to England?” she asked softly. “I meant what I said when you first returned. There’s a place for you. We...Was I wrong to think there was a spark of something between us, something that could fan into flame, given the chance? Because if I’m wrong, I’d rather you tell me now, before I raise up my hopes too high.”

“No,” Neville answered, thinking back to his conversation with Snape. “No, you’re not wrong. I think – I think this is finally our time, our chance. I’m willing to take the risk if you are. Does this mean I’m forgiven for running last time? It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, you’re forgiven.” Ginny’s smile was radiant. Finishing her wine, she rose from the table, coming around to tug Neville from his seat. “I should warn you, though. Now that Lily’s getting better it means Jamie and Al’s holiday at their grandparents is nearing an end. I think we should make the most of the time I have left before they come home, wouldn’t you agree?” She nuzzled against his jaw, breath warm on his face, her lips moving to his throat when Neville didn’t pull away.

“I agree,” Neville murmured, hands dropping to her hips, pulling her closer. His breath caught as her lips ghosted over a particularly sensitive spot. 

Ginny moved even closer, lips and tongue tracing his skin. Her hands came between them, pressing against his chest, fingers splayed wide as she kissed her way up to his ear. Nipping at the lobe, she whispered, “Make love to me? Seal the deal?”

“Leap before we look?” Neville asked, head tipping so Ginny could better reach his ear.

“Something like that, yes.” Ginny nipped his earlobe again.

Bending, Neville scooped Ginny into his arms, hearing her surprised gasp. Her arms encircled his neck. Kissing her, he said, “I’ve missed you, everything about you. Not just this.”

“I know,” Ginny replied, lips moving over his. “I’ve missed it, too.”

She giggled as he carried her all the way upstairs into the bedroom, looking up at him with shining eyes as he set her down on the duvet and climbed in next to her, stretching out on the bed before leaning in for another kiss. Ginny edged closer at once, fingers trailing along his arm. Neville kissed her slowly, open-mouthed, their tongues sliding together lazily. He felt Ginny’s fingers twine into his hair as he deepened the kiss, and made a small sound, head spinning already with arousal.

Ginny’s hands tugged at Neville’s shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his trousers and slipping them beneath, humming softly past his lips as her fingers brushed over his warm, bare skin and sending tingles of sensation sparking through his body. Shifting, Neville rolled over until he lay partly atop her, sliding his hand beneath her blouse and along the curve of her waist.

“Missed this,” he whispered, nipping at Ginny’s lower lip. “I used to dream about this, having another chance with you, and thinking it would never happen.”

“I did too,” Ginny breathed, parting her lips for him, closing her eyes and moaning softly as his tongue slid against hers. Her hands moved over Neville’s back as she toed off her shoes, nudging them off the edge of the bed. Curling one leg around Neville’s hip, she lifted her head from the pillows, kissing him deeper as she began fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

Neville sat up, giving her more space to work, pulling his arms from the sleeves once she’s slipped the last button from its hole and dropping the shirt onto the floor beside the bed. Bending over Ginny again once the shirt was off, he unfastened the buttons of her blouse, pushing the soft fabric aside to expose her lacy white bra. Neville smiled down at her, lowering his head to mouth her breast through the bra, dampening the lace. One leg slid between hers, pressing close as he laid a soft kiss to the bare swell of flesh above the bra.

“Is it okay if I take this off?”

“I’ll do it.” Ginny sat up, gently pushing Neville away just enough to pull off her blouse, letting it fall next to the bed beside Neville’s shirt before twisting her arms behind her back to undo the clasp. “I remember how much trouble you had with this last time.”

“I think the people who make bras do that on purpose,” Neville joked. Ginny chuckled, making quick work of the clasp while Neville took off his trousers and shoes, letting them fall carelessly onto the floor, where it was quickly joined by Ginny’s bra and skirt. Turning back to her, Neville lay back on the bed, drawing Ginny with him, his fingers moving over her bare breast, lips brushing gently over hers. Ginny made a small hissing sound of pleasure, shivering beneath his touch, her legs twining with his.

The nipple contracted beneath Neville’s stroking fingers, tight and hard. Bending his head, he replaced his fingers with his mouth, suckling gently. Ginny arched her back, pressing her breast harder against his lips, and he obligingly licked at the tip with his tongue before moving up to kiss her neck, savouring the scents of soap and the floral shampoo she still preferred after all these years.

Her leg curled around his hip again, toes tickling the back of his knee. Neville let out a small groan as the movement pulled him even closer against her, his erection rubbing her thigh through his boxers. Forcing himself to stillness, Neville resumed kissing her throat, lapping at the hollow, tracing the delicate arch of her collarbone before closing his lips around her nipple once more, feeling it grow taut beneath his swirling tongue. He drew his thumb across the other nipple before tweaking it into a hard point between his fingers; and Ginny’s fingers slid into his hair again, holding him in place. 

Responding to the unspoken demand, Neville moved back and forth between her breasts, licking and sucking with lips and tongue, grazing the tips with his teeth, rolling and pulling the opposite nipple with his fingers while she whimpered and moaned beneath him. His free hand skimmed over the soft swell of her belly, easing between her legs. Her knickers were damp beneath his fingertips and he slipped a finger beneath the elastic, dragging it through her folds and finding her wet and slippery, breath hitching in anticipation when she made a soft sound at the intimate caress.

Neville pulled back just enough to hook his fingers beneath the waistband. “Lift up,” he whispered. “I want to see how wet you are for me.”

Ginny bit her lip and nodded, shifting her hips so he could slide her knickers down her legs and off. Neville’s gaze roamed over her hungrily, refamiliarising himself with the sight of pale freckled skin; small, round breasts crowned with still-taut brownish-pink nipples; the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips; the small indentation of her navel in the middle of the gentle curve of her belly, still marked with the vestiges of three pregnancies; the shapely thighs, dark red curls at the apex. Ginny flushed at the scrutiny, cheeks turning pink, her eyes lowered. 

“Merlin, I’d forgotten how beautiful you are,” Neville whispered, curling around her and nuzzling at a breast, his hand slipping back between her legs to stroke her centre. More dampness slicked his fingers, and he pressed his forehead between her breasts, breathing heavily. “I thought I’d remembered, but seeing you now brings it all back.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ginny answered, the words weak and thready. Lifting a hand, she rubbed the pad of her thumb across Neville’s nipple, smiling when his breathing stuttered in his throat, petting it gently until it was as hard and tight as her own. “I’d forgotten how broad your shoulders really are.”

Neville smiled at the compliment and began kissing a zigzagging path down Ginny’s body, as though making it a point to reacquaint himself with each freckle sprinkled across her torso. Ginny wriggled beneath him, laughingly pointing out the spot whenever he missed a freckle. Her fingers were soft in Neville’s hair, combing through the strands, making him hum pleasurably against her skin as he moved further down her body, around her breasts and over her ribcage as she stretched and sighed beneath his lips.

Shifting to reach, Neville kissed the scattering of freckles across Ginny’s stomach, his tongue circling her navel before dipping inside, chuckling when Ginny giggled and complained it tickled. Moving his hand, he let it come to rest atop her mound, fingers stroking the crisp curls there, trimmed into a neat triangle. 

“Neville,” Ginny whispered, eyes slipping shut, legs parting so he could slide comfortably between them. “Oh yes, Neville, please...”

“Yes,” Neville agreed, lips moving over her hipbones and the tender crease separating her legs and torso, keeping the kisses light and feathery. Ginny’s head fell back against the pillows, shuddering in anticipation as his mouth moved over her, closer and closer.

Turning his head, Neville brushed his lips over the fragile skin of her inner thighs. This close, he could _smell_ her arousal, thick and heady as he moved higher and higher until there was nowhere else to go, damp crinkly hair pressing against his cheek as Ginny’s thighs widened for him. Neville pushed them apart a little more, rubbing his cheek against the rough curls on her mound, breathing in the intoxicating fragrance that was _Ginny_ until her hips canted upward, urging him wordlessly to move his attentions further down. 

He complied willingly, mouth moving over the swollen flesh of her outer lips, marking every tender bit with his lips and tongue before gently parting her with his fingers, breathing warm air over her and taking a moment to admire the deep pink folds unfurled to his gaze like the petals of a secret rose, moist and redolent with her arousal and need. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to her centre, inhaling.

Neville’s name sighed past Ginny’s lips, her entire body jerking as he touched her most intimate flesh. His tongue darted out, the tip flickering over her clit, moaning at the tangy, earthy flavour filling his mouth.

“You taste so good,” he whispered, beginning to lick in earnest, greedy for more. His hands braced the backs of her thighs, holding her apart with his thumbs as Ginny tensed and trembled against the onslaught, head tossing against the pillows, keening her pleasure, hips moving up and down instinctively.

Neville moaned again as a fresh surge of wetness dampened his lips and Ginny sobbed above him, his tongue tracing and exploring every fold and crevice, her flesh seeming to swell and throb beneath his touch, fingers pressing harder against her thighs as Ginny writhed and gasped broken words that might have been encouragement or a plea. The sounds spurred Neville onward, mouth sliding over her wetness, tongue delving into her in short, hard jabs before licking up to her clit, teasing it with his tongue.

“Please, Neville, oh god,” Ginny cried out, back arching, fingers clenched in the duvet, her entire body tense and trembling on the brink. Neville’s lips closed over her clit, suckling gently, brushing against the sensitised nub with the tip of his tongue; and Ginny shattered, convulsing, her cries rising higher and higher with each wave coursing through her until she slumped into the mattress, gasping for breath, eyes dazed and heavy.

Neville peered at her over her hips, licking the taste of her from his lips, not bothering to wipe the dampness from his cheeks and chin as he moved up her body to kiss her. “All right?” he murmured.

She smiled lazily, lifting her arms over her head and stretching, her thigh pressing against his erection. Neville sucked in a breath and her smile widened.

“Ask me again when you’re done,” she answered, still breathless from her orgasm, her hand closing around him. He thrust involuntarily, swallowing a groan, and she released him long enough to shove his boxers down over his hips, freeing his length until her fingers wrapped around him again, making him buck again into her hand.

“Keep that up, and I’ll be done sooner than you’d like,” he warned her. Sitting back, he finished pulling off his boxers, letting it join the rest of their scattered clothing on the floor before moving once more between her legs, hands going to her hips as he pressed into her, slow and sure until he was flush against her body, feeling her surround him in a tight, hot sheath. He held still a moment, kissing Ginny’s neck and shoulders and collarbone, wherever his lips could reach. She felt good, she felt right. She felt perfect.

He began moving, keeping his thrusts slow and deep, his hand moving between them to find her centre again. Ginny’s thighs tightened around his, hips moving up to meet each stroke, falling into a sweet rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. Her hand covered his, guiding his movements as his fingers slid over the slick bundle of nerves, breath shortening as he quickly found and echoed the pace she seemed to want.

“That’s it,” Neville breathed, his gaze locked on hers, watching her face tense and tighten, feeling her legs clench around him, heels digging into his arse, sweat breaking out on his forehead as she squeezed around his length as he touched and stroked her. “That’s it, sweet. Let go, Gin, let go for me.”

She cried out and came again, shuddering. Neville braced himself above her, capturing her mouth with his, swallowing her cries as she rode out her climax and finally let go, moving in and out with deep, powerful strokes, speeding further and further, pulled along by her whispered encouragement and the growing friction surrounding his cock as he thrust and thrust, and thrust again. The tightness in his belly overwhelmed, balls constricting almost painfully.

“Oh god,” he gasped, eyes squeezing shut as the first spurt erupted, spilling into her, his thrusts wildly erratic as he shuddered over her. 

Ginny ran her hands over his chest, waiting until he’d stilled before tugging him down to lie atop her. Neville followed willingly, catching his breath and feeling the sweat on his back cool, relaxing beneath the soothing touch of Ginny’s fingers stroking his sweat-dampened hair.

“Tell me we can make this work,” he whispered against a sudden, unexpected lump in his throat. “Tell me Lily’s not the only reason for me to come home.”

“Neville, you’re my friend before anything else,” Ginny said softly, tugging softly at his hair until he looked up at her. “Nothing will change that. Nothing. We’ll find a way.”

Reassured, Neville slid from her body, pulling Ginny against his chest and closing his eyes, drifting into a sated, well-earned rest.

~*~

_Six Months Later_

September was a good time for young families to enjoy the park. Most of the older children had left for another year at Hogwarts, the weather was still fine if a bit cool, and the leaves on the trees remained mostly green and lush. The area around the fountain was dotted with brightly coloured blankets, several of which supported picnic baskets.

Neville sat on one of those blankets, one eye on the chocolate cake Ginny had made to celebrate Neville’s permanent return to England now that his Canadian projects were completed, the one she swore she’d cut eventually. Most of his attention, however, was focused on the three young children darting back and forth on the grass, engaged in an energetic game that involved lots of running and chasing and a few other rules only they seemed to know, much less understand. Harry sat with Snape beneath the shade of a nearby tree, keeping a close watch on the proceedings.

James led the group, as the oldest and most opinionated, bright red hair an easily recognisable beacon in the afternoon light, bossing Albus around, telling him what to do and where to go. Al, being a mostly agreeable boy, obeyed most, if not always all of his older brother’s commands.

Lily ran circles around both of them, laughing and squealing, auburn pigtails bobbing as she dashed around Al, her toad plushie gripped tightly in her fist. Watching her run, no one would ever guess she’d been deathly ill earlier in the year.

“She does love that toad,” Ginny observed, leaning in and kissing Neville’s cheek. “She won’t go anywhere without her Roggie. I think it’s funny how she keeps trying to make Trevor the Second play with it.”

“Trevor the Second is a very lazy toad,” Neville replied amiably. “Trevor the First would’ve been down there with them, despite the risk of being trampled, if he wasn’t trying to hare off on one of his adventures. Can we have cake now? The frosting’s going to melt if we wait much longer.”

“Oh, fine.” Ginny rolled her eyes and reached for the cake, calling, “Kids! Time for cake!”

“Daddy, James pushed me!” Lily whined, running toward the adults. “I want a _big_ piece.”

“Did not,” James protested.

“James...” three male voices said in unison. Neville looked up as Harry and Snape joined them, grinning. Harry grinned back, and even Snape’s lips twitched in something that could be mistaken for a smile.

“Welcome home,” Ginny murmured, turning toward her offspring as they continued squabbling over who pushed whom, and Neville could only smile, agreeing wholeheartedly. 

Welcome home, indeed.


End file.
